


As Schoolboys from their Books

by Fyre



Series: Ne'er So Fair [1]
Category: Bad Education (UK TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-26
Updated: 2014-01-26
Packaged: 2018-01-10 04:35:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1155135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fyre/pseuds/Fyre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the first time in his life, Frank had to make himself pay attention to the game.<br/>Wasn’t that it was a bad game or anything.<br/>It was just that Stephen was with him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	As Schoolboys from their Books

**Author's Note:**

> I mainlined this show yesterday and I may have picked up a new ship.

For the first time in his life, Frank had to make himself pay attention to the game.

Wasn’t that it was a bad game or anything.

It was just that Stephen was with him.

It was kind of like they were going out.

It was fucking difficult to remember to keep his eyes on the game and not just look at the daft poof beside him. He was so into it as well. He was yelling and cheering just like everyone else, and when he smiled…

He was fucking beautiful, that’s what he was.

They’d done all the usual stuff before the game as well: pies, scarves, going through the programme and picked apart how they would have put the team together. For someone who supported Millwall, Stephen knew a hell of a lot about West Ham, enough to tear the defence to pieces, and it was fucking hot watching him do it.

The game should have been distracting, but it wasn’t, not when Stephen jumped to his feet, cheering, when there was a perfect goal almost right in front of them.

Frank forced himself to watch the pitch.

He thought he did a good job an’ all. No one yelled out that he was a queer, or threw anything. He’d seen that happen before. Fuck’s sake, he’d done it before. If he watched the pitch, then no one would wonder about him.

And that way, on the coach back, he could at least pretend to have something to talk about, because what did you say to someone who liked dancing and singing if you couldn’t talk about the footie?

“And did you see that tackle?” Stephen demanded in an awed voice. “Oh my god, I thought Maida was going to cry!”

“Thompson deserved the red card,” Frank said, watching him. 

Stephen had sprawled out against the window, and one of his legs was tucked under Frank’s. He was smiling again, and when he talked, he was so fucking excited about the game that Frank couldn’t help smiling too.

He looked away, awkward, when Stephen noticed he was watching.

“You should smile more,” Stephen declared. “You’ve got a nice smile.”

Frank Grayson didn’t blush like a fucking nonce, but he could feel his cheeks turning red. “Piss off,” he mumbled, but the fucking smile was trying to come back as well.

Stephen grinned at him, then sat back in his seat and looked out the window.

His hand was resting down beside his leg and Frank looked away before he let his own hand slip down. He wasn’t going to take the bugger’s hand, but there was nothing wrong with just letting their fingers knock against each other, right?

Stephen’s fingers moved and Frank winced. He’d gone too far, hadn’t he?

Instead, Stephen turned his hand, and hooked his fingers around Frank’s.

Frank looked at him, startled.

Stephen’s eyes were dancing. “I don’t bite,” he confided.

Frank knew he was blushing again, lit up like a fucking flare.

“So,” Stephen said, “what’d’you think of the line of defence?”

 

_________________________________________________

 

Stephen wasn’t surprised by much, but Frank Grayson was changing all that.

They’d almost held hands all the way back from the game, and talked about footie and things, and it was nice. Most guys didn’t even think he could know anything about sport, because they were daft pricks, but Frank listened to him.

When the bus rolled into town, they were the last ones off and stood on the pavement.

It wasn’t all that late, but it was quiet.

Stephen was about to lean in and kiss Frank on the cheek before heading home, when Frank cleared his throat like he wanted to say something.

He was looking at his feet, his hands in his pockets. “Want me to walk you home?” he asked, rocking on the balls of his feet. 

Stephen blinked in surprise. “You want to?”

Green eyes looked up at him. Shy. Of all the ways to describe Frank Grayson, shy wasn’t one he’d thought of before. “Like a gentleman, innit?”

For the first time of the night, Stephen felt his cheeks getting warm, and he knew he was grinning like an idiot. 

“Okay,” he said, “yeah. I’d like that.” He stepped closer and slipped his arm through Frank’s. Frank froze up like someone had kicked him in the balls. “Oh. Sorry…” Stephen started to pull his hand back, but Frank’s other hand moved, catching his wrist.

“Nah,” he said quickly. “S’all right.” He gave Stephen another one of those shy, awkward smiles that made Stephen’s belly go all weird and fluttery. 

Stephen knocked his shoulder against Frank’s. “Thanks,” he said. He nodded. “This way.”

It was cold out, so Stephen felt no guilt at all about tucking himself against Frank’s side. Even if Frank had his hands in his pockets and was looked like he wanted to hit someone, he was leaning against Stephen too. It was all right.

They walked in silence for a few minutes.

Frank was still watching the ground when he asked quietly, “How long have you been… y’know?”

Stephen looked at him with a smile. “Oh, always, babes,” he said. “My mum said she knew when I was six months old and I stopped crying whenever I heard Judy Garland sing ‘Somewhere over the Rainbow’.” He gently tugged his arm against Frank’s. “What about you?”

Frank shrugged. “Dunno. Didn’t think about it.”

“What? You never liked someone?”

Frank shrugged again. “I like you,” he said.

Stephen knocked his shoulder against Frank’s again. “Yeah?”

Frank glanced at him sideways, then nodded, looking down.

Stephen smiled. “You’re full of surprises,” he said. 

“You too.” Frank was silent for a moment. “Y’kicked me in the head once. Fucking amazing kick.”

“Oh my god!” Stephen started laughing. “You remember that?”

Frank nodded shyly. “No one ever tried anything like that before,” he said.

“Dancer’s legs,” Stephen said with a wave of his hand. “If you can’t kick like a bad-tempered donkey, they don’t let you in to dance school.”

“But you like football an’ all,” Frank said. 

Stephen laughed. “Some of us do,” he said. “We don’t all have to be like they are on the telly.” He leaned closer, conspiratorially. “In fact, some of us like it better when we find someone who isn’t.”

Frank looked up, startled. Their faces were so close, but before Stephen could even think about whether he wanted to kiss him, Frank blushed and looked down.

“We come in all shapes and sizes,” Stephen added. “You can like football and beer and dog racing and still like other boys. Or you can like ballet and opera or whatever. There’s no rules, y’know. Anyone can like anything. Just because they’re all the same on the telly doesn’t mean we’re all like that.”

“Yeah.” Frank was frowning thoughtfully at the pavement. “Right.”

They walked on in silence, but it wasn’t awkward. It was nice. Just nice, quiet, comfortable silence, and when Frank slipped his hand out of his pocket and took Stephen’s hand, Stephen bit his lip to keep from beaming like a twat. Frank’s fingers were warm and a little bit rough, and Stephen squeezed his hand.

He couldn’t remember what it was like not to be out.

It had to be scary, but as long as Frank wanted him around, he was happy to be there to make it easier for him.

“D’you want to go to the pictures?” he asked. “There’s that new ninja film out. Chantelle didn’t want to see it, but we could go?”

Frank went red right up to the tips of his ears. “Yeah, all right,” he mumbled. “I’ll get the popcorn, yeah?”

Stephen nodded happily. “It’s a date,” he said.

Frank looked at him, startled, blinking. “Right.”

Stephen squeezed his hand. “Don’t panic,” he said. “I’m not going to shouting it all over the school.” He offered Frank a small smile. “You can do that when you want to, yeah?”

Frank nodded uncertainly. “Yeah.”

Stephen looked ahead with a sigh. “Looks like we’re at the end of the line,” he said, nodding to his front gate.

“I’ll walk you to the door,” Frank said at once.

Stephen couldn’t help giggling as they walked down the path to the door. “Frank Grayson, where did you learn to be a gentleman?”

“I can read,” Frank snapped defensively. “Ain’t a thicko.”

Stephen covered their linked hands with his free one. “I never said you were,” he said. “You recited Shakespeare to me.” He gazed at Frank. “What’s your favourite book?”

“Dunno,” Frank muttered. He looked up. “But I like that Shakespeare stuff. Bastard knew what he was doing with words.”

Stephen smiled. “He did,” he agreed, lifting his hand to gently touch Frank’s cheek. Frank flinched, as if he was expecting to be smacked in gob. Stephen didn’t know much about Frank’s family, but that little flinch told him a hell of a lot. “How about this?” he murmured. “Parting is such sweet, sweet sorrow?”

Frank’s expression brightened. “That I say g’night til it be morrow,” he finished.

Stephen leaned closer and kissed him, and Frank made a small, beautiful little sound, squeezing Stephen’s other hand, like he needed a grip on reality or something.

It wasn’t the biggest, longest, tonguiest kiss in the world, but Stephen was still all tingly when he pulled back.

“See you tomorrow, Frank,” he said, grinning like a cat.

Frank tucked his hands back in his pockets, scuffing his foot. “Yeah,” he said, looking up with a tiny smile. “Whatever.”

Stephen watched him walk away, the silly sentimental sod looking back, smiling, and making him feel all bubbly down to his toes, then ducked into the house and closed the door behind him, leaning against it.

He touched his lips, grinning.

Good end to the year and start to the new one.


End file.
